


fall on your knees

by emavee



Series: Whumptober 2020 [16]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blood, Forced to beg, Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27049273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: “Beg, my grandson. Beg for me to spare his life.”Whumptober Day 16: forced to beg
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Whumptober 2020 [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948276
Comments: 9
Kudos: 123





	fall on your knees

**Author's Note:**

> i'm falling behind send help

“Beg, my grandson. Beg for me to spare his life.”

Grandfather stands in the doorway of their little makeshift cell. Grayson has been forced to his knees at his feet, head tugged back by the hair to bare his neck as Damian’s grandfather holds a sword to his throat. 

“Really, Ra’s?” Grayson asks, doing his best to glare up at the man. “This seems overly dramatic, even for you.”

Grandfather twists his hand tighter in the tangles of Grayson’s hair, pressing the metal of the sword harder against his skin. Grayson grunts slightly, but seems more irritated by the tugging on his hair than the weapon at his throat, so Damian assumes that he has yet to spill any blood.

“Beg,” Grandfather commands again, all amusement gone from his voice. Damian knows this one well. There is no trick. Grandfather will kill Grayson if Damian doesn’t do something.

He is weaponless and backed into both a literal and metaphorical corner. The room he and Grayson had been thrown in earlier is small and dark and cramped, with a single cot and nothing else. Damian has nothing to use to his advantage, all his gadgets and weapons searched and removed. They did the same to Grayson, and with the blade pressed to his throat, Damian cannot reasonably expect his brother to be able to get out of this on his own.

It will be up to Damian then, and he has no choice but to obey his Grandfather’s wishes.

“Please,” Damian whispers, cannot will his voice to sound any louder. His cheeks burn with humiliation, fists clenched tight and shaking at his sides. “Do not kill him. Please.”

Grandfather raises a single eyebrow, looking completely unimpressed and silently urging him to go on.

“He is a highly skilled fighter and an ally to my father. Father respects him, trusts him. He—he is useful. It would be a shame to kill him without putting those skills to good use.”

“I have considered all of this already, Damian. I do not want you to plead his case, I want you to  _ beg. _ ”

Damian swallows, but the lump in his throat just won’t dissipate. He chances a glance at Grayson, sees him frowning, but his ire is directed toward Grandfather, not Damian.

He catches Damian staring and his expression softens just slightly. “Damian…” 

Damian never gets the chance to find out what Grayson wanted to say to him because suddenly his grandfather is dragging the blade across Grayson’s throat, nowhere deep enough to kill, but enough to carve out a thin, bright red line. A warning, to both Grayson and Damian. Grayson hisses slightly at the sting of the blade and falls silent, glaring up at Ra’s with renewed force.

A single rivulet of blood trails down the side of Grayson’s neck, spurring him into action.

Damian drops to his knees, bones cracking painfully against the stone. “Please, I beg you, spare his life. Do not kill him. Please, please do not kill him.” The words rush out of him before he can feel embarassed by the pitiful sound of his own begging. There will be time for humiliation later, once there is no longer a blade pressed to Grayson’s neck. “Let him live,” he says, hunching over and bowing his head, lowering himself the way his Grandfather so clearly wants him to. “Please. I will do anything.”

“Anything,” Damian whispers. “Just let him live.”

Grandfather is silent for a moment, but finally he lets out a single amused hum. “You have changed, my grandson.”

Damian does not know what he means by that but he doesn’t care. Out of the corner of his eye, head still bowed, too afraid to truly look up, Grandfather pulls the sword away, his hand dropping from Grayson’s hair. Hesitantly, tentatively, Damian’s gaze lifts. He casts his grandfather only a fleeting glance before he settles his attention on Grayson. 

Grayson smiles at him, and Damian can’t quite read his expression, but it seems bittersweet, almost reassuring and maybe even proud, even if underneath it all he still looks so sad. Damian sags in relief, every muscle in his body suddenly releasing tension. 

The humiliation and degradation are fading away, making him feel mostly numb. The stone is still hard and cold beneath his knees, but virtually everything else has faded away. He barely registers the shaking in his extremities, knows they will stop soon, once the relief makes its way through him.

And then there’s the distinct, horrible  _ shink  _ of deadly-sharp metal sliding through flesh. Damian has heard it a thousand times before, from his own hands and countless others, is horrifically numb to it by now, but in this instant it is the worst sound he has ever heard. 

Grandfather’s sword protrudes from Grayson’s chest, his blood decorating the gleaming metal and dripping down onto the stone floor. It’s a clean move, a quick kill. Grayson is still smiling.

Damian screams, wordless and terrified and desperate. He scrambles forward on hands and knees, catching Grayson’s falling form as Grandfather wrenches the sword out of his back.

Grayson is too heavy, completely deadweight, and he slumps half on the floor, half on Damian’s lap. “No, no, no,” Damian whispers as he turns him over. “No, Grayson.  _ Richard. _ Please.”

Grayson stares at nothing, blue eyes cloudy and unblinking, and there is blood everywhere. It coats Damian’s hands, and pools beneath his knees, thick and dark, staining everything it touches. Damian is tempted to put pressure on the wound; it is his instinct to try and stop the bleeding, but there is no point. Grayson was dead before Grandfather even removed his sword.

“Why?” he asks, voice cracking in a horrible mixture of rage and grief. “I did what you asked. Why did you kill him?”

“You need to learn humility, grandson. Richard Grayson has made you weak, but I will make you strong once again, rebuild you for your true purpose. One day, you shall thank me.”

He wants to rage and scream, wants to launch himself at his grandfather just to prove that Richard has only made him stronger, made him  _ better, _ but none of his muscles seem to want to listen to him. His lips stay glued shut, ears ringing and limbs shaking. By the time he manages to lift his gaze from Richard’s pale face, Grandfather is gone.

The door has been left open. Damian cannot move.

**Author's Note:**

> and then it was all a fear gas hallucination because i certainly wouldn’t kill dick off AGAIN…


End file.
